


Often a Star (was waiting for you to notice it)

by adjuvantQasida



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (fucklet collection lmao), Aftercare, Anal Fingering, BDSM, Biting, Bondage, Exhibitionism, F/F, Ficlet Collection, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Impact Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Trans Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Transgender Moira O'Deorain, Vulnerability, crying during sex (but like in a good way), gratuitous use of poetry for titles bc what tf else have I ever done, the real kink was love and affection all along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-03-24 12:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjuvantQasida/pseuds/adjuvantQasida
Summary: A bunch of Moira/Mercy ficlets so I can practice smut. Prompts welcome.





	1. Edging/Orgasm Denial

**Author's Note:**

> Ended up back in the saddle w/ 37 wips and nothing to show for it, so I wanted to write some little things I could put up quickly/practice writing smut with.
> 
> Shout out to the Moicy discord server both for putting up with an excessive number of commas and for coming up with some Grade A Quality prompts & AUs. If YOU have a prompt please feel free to drop it in the comments. More is better.
> 
> If no relevant meme is available, it seems like I only ever take any kind of titles from poetry. So the title of this work is from Stephen Mitchell's translation of the first of Rainier Maria Rilke's Duino Elegies.

Angela was panting, hips jumping against the toy Moira was holding stationary inside her. Gently, carefully, Moira’s head bent and she felt her tongue lapping at her clit. “Please,” she gasped. “Please, have mercy, please-”

The moment the word “mercy” left her mouth she knew what Moira's response would be. She backed off and started laughing in her cruel, deep, perfect way. More to the point, she turned off the vibration.

“Mercy?” Moira said, a smirk sprawling across her face. “Did you want to beg for Mercy?”

“Moira-” Angela started, but a slim finger laid itself over her lips.

“Beg for Mercy and I’ll consider letting you come now,” Moira ordered, then turned the vibrator inside her back on. Angela whined plaintively and tossed her head as Moira dug out a second, smaller vibe, holding it up so she could see. “So, then,” said Moira, fiddling with the new toy. “Ready to start begging?”

The instant Moira touched it to her clit, she was gone, howling some wordless exclamation as she finally hit her peak. Cursing and pulling hard at the restraints, Angela rode out her orgasm, then subsided into an embarrassed, twitching mess.

“I didn't say you could do that, pet,” said Moira, laughing a little. “Shall I edge you all over again? How many was it?”

Angela had to work her mouth for a minute before she could speak. “Don't know. I lost count.”

The malicious grin unfurled over Moira's face, and Angela knew there would be no mercy here tonight.


	2. Impact Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes everything is a disaster and u spit out 300 words of moira o'deorain getting caned while you're in the waiting room at the mechanic

“Again,” Moira snarled, body tensed for the blow, wrists tied high enough over her head even she had to stand on tiptoe.

Nothing happened.

“What are you-” she started to say, and her body relaxed as she stopped anticipating the blow, and Angela swung. She howled.

“You're still trying to control when I hit you, even when you said you needed this,” Angela said cooly. “What did you think I was going to do, Moira?” The switch traced her spine, her tailbone, the back of her left leg, then left her body again. “Hang on your every word, to keep you pleased?”

“Unlikely,” Moira gritted, instinctively tensing when a moment passed with no new pain. Again, Angela waited her out patiently and struck. This time she tried to choke back her noise (unsuccessful). “You’ve always been- remarkably recalcitrant to my suggestions- _come on, Dr. Ziegler, fucking hit me-”_

“On my own time,” Angela says, voice like ice, and hits her twice anyway. It's once across the top of each thigh, and Moira is almost there, it's almost perfect. Almost. 

Two more lashes across the welts she can feel forming on her thighs. Moira's crying, enormous tears running down her face, with the hacking sobs she _hates_ with every cell in her. When Angela says “poor thing,” there's no sympathy in her voice.

“Please,” she snarls, and finally feels a hand on her. It traces the red marks to make them sting, cups the sharpened jut of her right shoulder blade. Angela cups her throat and digs her nails in. And, finally, fucking finally, that hand finds its way between her legs.

“Give me a color,” Angela says, businesslike.

“Green, god damn you, green,” Moira chokes out, and Angela slaps her cunt hard. Once, twice, and one more lash from the switch, and she's coming almost without feeling it, crying in earnest, head empty at last.


	3. Throatfucking, Exhibitionism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring non-op trans woman Moira O'Deorain. do not fucking be gross about this or I will delete your comment and punt you into the netherworld

They were in the lab. Each of them spent the majority of their waking hours here, to be fair, and the reborn Overwatch wasn't what most people would call _professional._ It was only natural that this kind of thing would happen.

These were Moira’s excuses, anyway, for having her coworker on her knees in a work environment. But Angela looked so good this way, in her lab coat with her hair tied back. Moira loved the look in those ridiculous blue eyes as they stared up at her, pleading.

“If you're going to drop to your knees in the middle of the lab,” she said with a false coolness, “I suppose you must have something that you want.” More than likely, Angela had been thinking about this for hours, and when she checked between her legs she would find a veritable ocean. Receiving no answer, she raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Well, Dr. Ziegler?”

Angela blushed, but rather than answering, she raised her hands to the buckle of Moira's belt. Immediately, Moira seized her wrists, glaring down, demanding. “With your words. Now.”

Angela pressed her forehead to the leg of Moira’s slacks and, embarrassed, mumbled something that Moira barely picked up. A cruel smile began to take its place on her mouth. “That will hardly do. Speak up, pet.”

“Please, may I suck you off,” she said, still not meeting her gaze.

“Acceptable,” Moira said casually. She let her wrists go. “Well?”

Angela's (slightly shaky) fingers made short work of her belt buckle, then the button and zipper on her pants. Moira pulled her boxers down just far enough for Angela to pull her half-hard cock out. Moira hissed a quiet breath and Angela whined deep in her throat, stroking her gently with one hand.

“And how long have you been thinking about this?” Moira mused. “How much attention did you pay in that meeting earlier?”

“Very little, Dr. O’Deorain,” she said a little pertly. Her hand curled around Moira perfectly, sending sparks of light down her spine. “It wasn't relevant.”

She had to laugh at that. “I doubt Jack Morrison knows that's how you spend your meetings, but as it's not in my interests to tell him…”

Angela’s hand, calloused from her staff and pistol, stroked her for a minute. Then Moira batted her hand away. “Well?”

“Well?” Angela mimicked her, tongue flicking out to taste her. Moira hissed, hips jumping unintentionally, brushing her head over her tongue. She laughed and delicately ran the tip of her tongue over Moira’s slit.

“I didn't allow you this so you could _tease,”_ Moira hissed. Winding the fingers of one hand through Angela’s hair, she tapped her on the jaw with the other. “Open.”

She obeyed with a quiet little whine, taking Moira’s tip into her mouth, then slowly making her way down. Her tongue traced her frenulum, making Moira groan. “Good slut.” She braced herself against the desk behind her, using her hand to direct the movements of Angela’s head, gradually making her take more. “That’s better. I’ve been deeper in that throat of yours, pet. I know I trained you to take more.”

Angela’s face was somewhere between desperate and worshipful as her nose brushed red curls.

Then Moira became aware of a pressing feeling of being watched. Warily, she looked up. And yes, there in the door, frozen - in what looked like mixed arousal and horror - were Lindholm and Amari the youngers. They couldn't look her in the eye. Or, more accurately, they didn't. They were too busy staring at Mercy on her knees.

Her toy was, Moira admitted to herself, a sight. She felt herself grinning almost maliciously. If they wanted a show- well, she knew Angela wouldn't mind…

“Fuck, _aingeal,”_ she said, voice jagged. “Come on. Swallow for me.”

Obediently, Angela swallowed around her once, then again. Her eyes were huge, pupils blown black, raggedly breathing through her nose. “So good,” Moira almost snarled. She pulled back to let her breathe properly, bringing Angela’s hand up to take over the job.

Angela just looked up at her, hands shaking instead of stroking. She breathed deep for a moment. Then she leaned in and opened her mouth, tongue visible, for Moira.

Moira opened her mouth, came up with nothing, closed her mouth, and brought Angela’s head forward using the hand still fisted in her hair. She let the head of her cock rest on Angela’s tongue. Then she let the stuttered movement of her hips work it deeper. Her mouth was so wet, and she shuddered at the thought of staying there, of letting her suck her off until she emptied down that perfect throat. “So fucking eager,” she said, voice deep in her throat, almost unrecognizable to her own ears. “Will you take it for me, _aingeal?”_

Angela whimpered loudly and swallowed her deeper, back to the base. Moira swore vehemently. She heard a little whisper of movement from the door, and looked up to meet Amari’s eyes. The woman looked… jealous. Challenging. But also _very_ interested.

The grin never fell from Moira’s face as she started to fuck Angela’s throat in slow, forceful motions. The pit of her stomach was a furnace. Her toy’s eyes looked up at her foggily, pleading, and she ran her fingers along the curve of her cheek in reassurance. By the door, Lindholm had brought her hand up to cover most of her flushing face (though not, Moira noted, her eyes). Amari was watching intently, staring at the pair of them with a focus most people would have found unnerving.

(Angela would like that stare, if she knew it was happening, be humiliated by it and have that only draw her deeper - but Moira put this thought aside for later.)

“Your preference for where I--?” she asked Angela, cutting herself off when she felt that tongue flutter against her. Angela just looked up at her and swallowed again, and she groaned, hips jerking. “A little bit more, _mo rún,_ just a little more…”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Angela doubled her efforts, swallowing around her again as she took as much as she could. Her eyes were watering. It struck Moira again how eager she was, how ready to beg for something she knew was both uncomfortable and potentially debasing, and how frustratingly sweet it was. That _would_ be Angela, Moira thought desperately, and she whimpered around her again, and the sound sent her over the edge. 

Gasping for breath, she emptied herself down her toy’s throat, trying to keep her hips from jerking too much. So hot, so slick, so perfect. Moira grabbed the edge of the desk to keep herself stable as she rode the last tiny bit of her orgasm, other hand still in Angela’s hair, gripping so hard her knuckles were bone white.

When she pulled out, Angela looked up at her in supplication. Moira tugged her roughly up, lifting her to a seated position on the desk, and pulled her in close. Her hands clenched on Angela’s thighs, nails digging into the skin. As she did, she heard the sound of the door closing.

So did Angela, finally. She raised her head in surprise and rasped out, “what--”

“We had a bit of an audience for that,” Moira hissed in her ear as she pulled down her leggings. “Pharah and Brigitte seemed to enjoy your eagerness, pet. I suppose I should not begrudge them, but--”

Angela let her head fall back as Moira’s own mouth found its way between her legs, and the matter was forgotten about. For the moment.


	4. Vulnerability, Anal Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> me at 4 am while my girlfriend's gone: what if angela was feeling really vulnerable and wanted to sub really badly but also was anxious about it, like nobody that I know, honestly

She should know better than to let Moira have her like this, but god, she’s been trying to work her up all day. She's been running her fingers along the base of her back, the nape of her neck, the side of her cheek, she kissed her hard while they were waiting for the centrifuge to spin down, she closed her hands around her wrists and suggested Angela look into a set of cuffs she thought she might like. Angela didn't even want to think about what her face looked like when Moira had said that one.

Probably like she was ready to beg.

She's begging now, hoarse pleading sounds that Moira’s jerking out of her with every crook of those fingers. Angela can barely stop herself from rocking backwards and trying to take more. But she's not ready yet. She knows because Moira told her.

Moira's been so good to her. She's tied her wrists and cuffed her ankles. She's fastened clips to her nipples, perfect cruel ones that made her flinch and whimper just like she wanted to. When she takes them off they're going to really hurt, and she clenches around Moira's fingers at just the idea.

Moira's petted absentmindedly at her clit, more attention than Angela feels she deserves, though she couldn't say why. Moira's stretched her around three fingers and she knows, the pit of her stomach knows, she's going to take another one and she's going to thank her without being able to get out a coherent sentence.

Moira's touched her.

She buries her face in the bed and makes a wordless, desperate noise. Moira hums in reply and she hears her opening the lube again behind her. She feels the slick fingertip of her thumb pressing at her ass. Angela tries to relax for her but of everything they've tried recently, this is the most difficult for her. Moira works one slim finger into her and she's whimpering, panting harshly, hands clenched around the rope holding them. She can barely deal with it, but Moira will force her to until she safewords or comes.

The thought makes her wetter. She clenches around both the individual thumb and the four other fingers that Moira is now using to stretch her cunt, and she can't take it, she doesn't know if she's going to come or cry. Angela buries her face in the blanket and sobs “yours, yours, yours,” trying to muffle it, knowing she's not supposed to want to be owned this badly, failing.

When Moira hears it, she pauses for a second. Then she starts to fuck her in earnest, more than meeting the weak, choppy movements of Angela's hips, as she shifts her body forward to cover Angela’s.

“Do you want to be mine, _mo rún?"_ she asks, voice deceptively quiet in Angela's ear. “Do you want me to keep you?” And she unclips the clamps.

“Yes,” Angela begs her through the incredible rush of sensation. “Please, yours, _please-”_

She comes, tightening almost painfully around those fingers, as Moira sinks her teeth into her shoulder. It's not a pleasant bite. Just what she needed. She's crying with how intense it is, mouth open and soundless, back half-arched.

Moira's soft groan in her ear as she lets go of her shoulder makes her shudder with what almost might have been a second orgasm. Almost.

Those incredible fingers trace her back, stroking comfortingly. Angela mades a vaguely grateful noise, and Moira chuckles almost affectionately.

“We’ll have to talk about that later,” she says calmly. “But for now…” Moira unfastens the rope from the headboard, but not from Angela’s hands, and the cold chains from her ankle cuffs. “Come here.”

Angela nestles gratefully into her side, wrecked, and Moira's hand settles over her back. She falls asleep with Moira's cheek resting on top of her head. Moira's arms keep her close.

Her dreams are sweet.


	5. Maybe The Real Kink Was Love And Affection All Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira being very sweet and affectionate in bed and also giving Angela a handjob
> 
> handjob is one word I swear

“Comfortable?” Moira murmurs in her ear, tongue tracing her earlobe. Angela nods, trying not to be too eager as Moira takes hold of her, those delicate fingers trailing their way from her base to the underside of her tip. She groans and raises her hips. Moira laughs when she sees, but it's lacking her usual sharpness, happy and affectionate. “It's good to see you so ready.”

She strokes her so slowly she can barely stand it. Angela's panting, hands clinging to Moira’s thighs as she tries not to move too much. Her hips pick up a helpless little rocking motion. Moira sighs happily and runs one thumb along the base of her head, making her moan softly. “So soft. You’re exquisite, _mo chroi.”_

Angela angles her head to press her temple against Moira's throat and tries to thrust up into her hands, but Moira takes her hands off of her to hold her hips steady and she makes the kind of desperate noise she's always a little humiliated by. Moira groans deep in her chest when she hears it and brings one hand back to her cock, giving her a little more pressure, a firmer stroke. “Will you behave for me, sweet? Trust me?”

She can feel her blush in her ears, but she nods immediately. 

Moira picks up the pace. Her second hand briefly cups Angela’s balls, then circles the base of her cock, making her whimper. She hears the smile in her voice when Moira replies. “Don’t worry, _aingeal._ No denial today. I want to see you come.”

She's going to get her way, Angela thinks hazily. Bracing her heels on the bed, she thrusts up into Moira's hand. This time she lets her, and laughs that affectionate laugh again, and tightens her grip just a fraction further. Moira takes a minute to spread the pre-come building at her tip across her head, and Angela tosses her head and gasps when she feels Moira’s fingertip on her slit. “Please- please, more-”

Moira’s pleased hum reverberates in her ear, and she returns to her previous rhythm. “Go on, angel. I want you to fuck my hand, want to see you fall over the edge. Think of it as practice for when I ride you."

The mental image hits her like a bolt of lightning down the spine. Moira on top of her, sinking down onto her as their tongues meet, moving her hips down to meet her when she bucks up, clenching as she moans without any shame- Angela keens, and bucks up into Moira's hand twice, three times, and she comes, panting and jerking, inside Moira's fingers.

“Just like that, sweet, so good,” Moira croons, stroking the last few drops out of her. “You're perfect. Just like that...”

Angela sees her bring her wet fingertips up to her smiling mouth and lets her own head loll back. In a minute, she’ll have her chance to make Moira squirm. For now, though, she wants to breathe in this affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not joking when I say I want prompts btw you should leave one in the comments
> 
> shout out to the moicy discord for the 80th time, the nsfw channels are extremely good for this ficlet series and basically all my prompts are currently from there. ljosfari/gourmet idiot sandwich came up with the title of this one.


	6. Aftercare (post-Chapter 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey so the writers block is kind of bad over here sorry
> 
> this is not Technically a fucklet as it has no fucking but Who Care

In the aftermath, Angela pressed close to Moira, one hand supporting her around her waist as the other mapped out her welts. Moira was holding tight to the ropes around her wrists and panting into Angela's hair, struggling to breathe through her tears.

“You did well,” Angela murmured, smoothing her palms over each of Moira's ribs. “It's all right. The worst is over.”

Moira made a sniffly, exhausted sound she would have hated instantly if her endorphins hadn't been in the way.

Slowly, as she came back to awareness, Angela coaxed her to lean on her. The ropes holding her wrists up came loose with a series of careful tugs and Moira all but collapsed. She caught her weight around her shoulders as they stumbled towards the bed in the corner, then helped her slide on.

It took a minute or two for her tears to die down. Angela held her, arms cradling her head, humming tunelessly as she pressed kisses to her hair. Moira pushed herself against her as she started to shiver, and Angela drew their blanket up and over her back, stroking the nape of her neck.

“Feeling better than before?” she asked in a low, soft voice when Moira blinked away the last few tears.

“Mmm,” said Moira. Then she nodded, to reassure her. “Much.”

The bed was a little too welcoming, though, and eventually Angela coaxed her up and into the en suite on shaky legs. The blanket trailed behind her, then fell from her frame at the door. Angela shoved it out with one foot.

They stood in front of the mirror for a long minute while the steam from the shower warmed the room. There she was: that was Moira. Unselfconscious, long, pale, little scars at the right forearm and the middle of her collarbone, stretch marks on her shoulders from her growth spurts, breasts made small by her stature, pubic hair trimmed just enough to behave. She turned around to see the welts, and Angela’s hand fell to them again.

“I forget I am a physical creature, sometimes,” Moira said finally.

“Well,” said Angela, brushing one more kiss over her shoulder blade. “Thank you for letting me remind you when you need it.”

Moira smiled down at her, and bent to kiss her back.


End file.
